Three is an Important Number
by widgeon
Summary: No one has heard from Oliver Wood in six years. He's one of the three needed to find Mr. H. Potter, so the Ministry is in dire straits. Who can find our mystery man? and what happens when he is discovered?eventual H/H story line(will be explained later)
1. Chapter One i'm going to break this cycl...

bEmail: parsleynsage@hotmail.com  
  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  


Summary: Oliver Wood.  Who the hell is Oliver Wood? No one in the wizarding community hasn't heard of this man since his surprising graduation from Hogwarts in 1996, much to the dismay of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  He needs to be found, but why? and who can handle the task?    

Chapter One

i'm going to break the cycle

(prologue…sort of)

            Wills ground his teeth against the edge of the empty mug, stomach growling and eyes constantly searching the courtyard for a familiar brown mop and a very welcome bag of groceries.  The only thing he could do occupy the time was to draw another one of his dumb cartoons on the frosted window with thumb.  This was the fourth pane he had covered, the third that involved a different situation in which he would be able to pound Charlie's head into the moldy tile floor of the bathroom, perhaps even giving him some sort of infection.

            Mind you Wills wasn't normally a violent person, but his patience was directly connected to his stomach, like most men.  However, his roommate, Charlie, didn't see fit to go out for more foot until the larder and refrigerator were completely empty and gathering dust.  The idiot had forgotten to write down a list for the grocery store and had had to call back to the flat and get a list from Wills, who was being tortured on the other end listening to Charlie describe the different sorts of cookies.  It had been two hours since he had borrowed his roommate's scooter and driven off in the direction of the market and at least half and hour since his last call.  

            "Come on now, you bloody git.  I dare you to use the cross the courtyard.  Now!" Wills yelled at the empty yard, his stomach echoing his cry of mercy. 

            Without transportation or any money to use for anything besides rent, Wills was stuck in the flat.  He couldn't do anything to Wood at the moment, but he could at least rummage through his room.  He'd been curious as to what the twit did in that closed room of his all day long, and were those funny little gold coins he paid his rent in came from.  Wills chuckled to himself, that's exactly what he would do.

            Charlie trudged up the last set of shitty steps to his shitty cramped apartment he shared with his shit of a roommate Wills.  He cursed the lift as he passed yet another door, failing to do so silently, he upset a chubby brown child with chocolate smeared on their face.  He received a few choice curt words from an angry mother and returned it with a sheepish grin.   She couldn't help but smile back.  There it was again.  The Ferguson magic still worked!  

            Magic, that was something he hadn't thought about in ages.  He doubted that he would even be able to find his wand if he stripped his room from top to bottom, which would be difficult in the state it was currently in.  He shifted the wait of the bags to his right arm and attempted to remove a bagel from it's wrapping without spilling the contents on the shitty cement floor or the shitty doormat.  He wasn't so lucky and managed spill pickled eggs ( which he had gotten at Wills' request), a tin of re-fried beans (Wills' choice), and catsup (his own mistake) on the front of what he hoped he would find to be a kind as well as stunning girl.

            "Oi! I'm terribly sorry," Charlie said in the most suave tone he could manage.  

            "I'm sure you are," she spat in a tone that was less kind than he had hoped for.  

            She pushed past him and continued on her way down the stairs.  Charlie did his best to repack the bags and stumbled up to the landing where his apartment was.  The keys were slippery in his hands and he struggled to even get in the apartment.  When the hinges failed to give he resorted to kicking the bottom, leaving a very dirty shoeprint on the metal door.

            "It's about time!" Wills cried once he saw Charlie, taking the powdered doughnuts out of the bigger bag.

            "I see it's beyond you to even try and help me," Charlie spat as his roommate as he slowly made his way to the shitty cramped kitchenette with it's shitty flower paper cabinets.

            Wills nodded, wiping the sugar off his mouth on the back of his arm, "I told you I wouldn't have anything to do with this hideous kitchen unless you take down that hideous cabinet paper!"

            Charlie shrugged and began putting away the heavier canned goods, "I heard you telling one of your club friends that you absolutely loved the daring garishness of the flowers, and that you would die before you saw them go."

            His roommate stopped mid-bite, the doughnut teetering dangerously on his bottom lip.  A few minutes passed before he regained his composure, "And why exactly were you listening to one of my _private _conversations?"

            "First of all, a conversation is no longer private when you're shouting," Charlie snorted rolling his eyes, "And secondly, I live here so I have the right to know about what happens within the apartment, whether it be my business or not."

            Wills' face was still flushed scarlet, "I'll be sure to make it your business the next time Charlotte comes over.  She was looking at your picture the last time he was over, said you reminded her of someone named Oliver Wood.  Though I can't understand why Charlotte would know someone name Oliver, never mentioned someone with that name before, and she tells me everything. Maybe she wants to meet you because she fancies you." 

            Charlie's fit of laughing began as a slight chuckle and then escalated into bellowing cackle from the bottom of his feet.  He had to rest a hand on the counter to steady himself as not to fall.

            Irony, wasn't it just hilarious?

            "What the hell can be so entertaining?" Wills asked, still not understanding anything.

            "It's just that," he started still laughing, "we both know Charlotte is no she," he continued, interrupted by another bought of amusement, "and she'd know a thing or two about me, everyone does, if she's from the other—I mean my home town."

            Wills could do nothing to shut his mouth.

            "Don't look so surprised! I'm not as sheltered as you think I am.  It's perfectly fine as long as you do whatever it is you do—and no I don't want to hear any sort of details—in your own space.  After all, you live here just like I do."

            His roommate suddenly found his confidence, "That's right! I do live here, and she—I mean, er—he should be able to do whatever—I don't think I need to provide any details—we like whenever we like, but I suppose where we do it will have to suit you."         

            Charlie snickered, "That's exactly what I said.  Glad you agree, Wills.  I feel so close to you right now."

            Wills dodged his roommate's attempt to swipe the doughnut from his mouth and smacked Charlie on the head, "You stupid boy! These are my doughnuts. Besides, I don't think you need any."

            "What are you talking about?" Charlie asked trying to create a body building pose.

            "This," Wills said as he made a grab for Charlie's middle.  Charlie squirmed and almost let out a high-pitched squeal, "I wouldn't have ever taken you as a ticklish little Scot."

            Charlie pushed his roommate off the counter, "One would think that you're trying to get fresh with me Wills Faulk."

            Wills winked and dashed out of the room, conveniently leaving before Charlie had finished putting away the groceries.  Charlie silently cursed his roommate and threw the carton of milk and gallon of orange-banana juice into the frig.  He cringed when he heard something crash in the inside of the icebox.  Not feeling curious he made a mental note to open later and investigate what kind of mold was threatening his precious vanilla ice cream later.

            Wills sat happily in his room completely submerged under, what he thought was 'the prettiest blue blanket in the whole county'.  He loved it for so many reasons; the gorgeous piecing, the intricate quilting, and the fact that Charlotte had given it to him.  He was searching for a number with his right hand, squinting to see the tiny numbers in his only telephone book.  In his left hand he held a wooden stick and a bunch of small gold coins.

            "There it is!" Wills exclaimed as he saw the number he had been searching for.  Months ago one of Charlotte's friends had given him the digits to a great physic, the best outside of that big Jamaican woman herself.  

            "Let's find out a little bit more about Mr. Charlie Ferguson," he snickered as he pushed the send button.


	2. Chapter Two we're calling tomorrow a sic...

Email: parsleynsage@hotmail.com  
  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
  


Summary: Oliver Wood.  Who the hell is Oliver Wood? No one in the wizarding community hasn't heard of this man since his surprising graduation from Hogwarts in 1996, much to the dismay of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  He needs to be found, but why? and who can handle the task?    

AN: So now that you've been introduced to Charlie and Wills I want to welcome you to Chapter two! did you like chapter one? did you review? if you didn't get your booty back there and do so!

look for: Hermione, why harry is gone, Arthur weasley, and ron 

Chapter Two

we'll make tomorrow a sick day

            "Hello?" Hermione whispered into her cell phone.  The line had gone dead.  She'd been hung up on again.  That made the third time in two hours, definitely a record for the curly-haired girl.

            "That was rude," muttered the wizard that was sitting next to her.  His long twisted mustaches hung below his bushy muttonchops.

            Hermione smiled, touched that someone was willing to defend her against the mean caller, "I guess they just weren't expecting my call."

            The old man turned to her with a dark expression, "I was talking about you, young lady.  You have the audacity to use that Muggle inspired contraption in the presence of a classically trained wizard."

            Not sure what to do with herself, Hermione shoved her phone back into her purse and jumped out of her seat as her name was called.  She approached the small desk cluttered with important scrolls and parchments.  

            The woman behind the desk perched on the edge of the overstuffed leather chair.  Her hands flew over the Muggle looking computer, and her eyes flickered to  Hermione's face before she broke into a smile.

            "Good afternoon, Agnes."

            The secretary grimaced, "No good afternoons for me this week, Miss Granger.  But thanks anyways.  How's Ron been doing since the last time he came into visit his father?"

            Hermione smiled, the mention of Ron always brought a curious look to Agnes' face.  She couldn't help but love the boy, but ws disappointed that he didn't come into see his 'poor overworked, underpaid and underappreciated father' more often.  

            "Ron was good when I saw him digging into a huge bowl of Sugar Crispiness and the most chocolate chip pancakes I have ever seen."

            Agnes nodded, and looked as if she'd forgotten what she was going to say next, "Oh, right.  The Minister wanted to see you immediately."

            Hermione nodded and as she stepped through the door she could hear the old wizard saying, "I've been waiting for a good hour!"

            "Calm down," Agnes responded, "That's Hermione Granger."

            She shut the door before she heard the old man's response.  No one over the age of sixty knew who she was, but that didn't matter to her.  Fame hadn't gotten to her head in the last three years and now wasn't any time to start.

            "Sit down," the Minister said without turning around.

            The young witch did as she was told, and looked about the room while waiting for the Minister to finish doing whatever it was he was busy with.  The room was busting full photos of the Minister's children, all of who had a stunning resemblance to him.  The largest and most animated picture was that of his son's graduation, taken some two years earlier.  The young wizard's hair and Gryffindor robes were wiping about him in a strong wind.  His best friends stood on either side of him, the girl shielding her eyes against the sun, and the slightly shorter boy staring intently in her direction. 

            "Take it," came the soft voice of Arthur Weasley.

            "What?" Hermione asked, her concentration on the photograph broken.  In the last year everything associated the Trio had been offered to her, photographs, articles, yearbooks, letters, and even very personal belongings.  

            Arthur looked at the young woman across the desk.  From his position of Minister, which he had received shortly after Ron's graduation, he had been able to keep a watchful eye on Hermione.  But there were few opportunities for their schedules to work out so that they could speak outside the stipulations of boss to worker. 

            "I've tried to give that to you every time you've entered my office in last few months.  It would do more use in the apartment than it is on my desk, besides look how many pictures of the three of you I am surrounded by already," the Minister said chuckling.

            Hermione managed a weak laugh though she didn't find it all that funny, "Are you sure you don't mind?"

            As soon as Arthur had nodded the picture was already in Hermione's bulging brief case.  The older man smiled and folded his hands in preparation in the serious words he was getting ready to say. 

            "Would you like some water?" he asked her.

            She shook her head.

            He made another futile attempt at stalling and continued when Hermione explained she was pressed for time as it was, "As you most likely have assumed, I have asked you here to discuss a serious matter."

            Hermione continued nodding and looked at her watch.

            "It's about Harry."

            Ron searched his pockets once again for his keys, cursing quite loudly when he had to resort to finding the hidden key.  He and Harry had stupidly placed Hermione in charge of hiding the key when they'd all moved in, and the only one he'd ever been able to find was under the fern pot.  He was desperate and lifted the pot to find the very thing he'd been searching for.

            The key slipped into the lock he'd greased himself a few days before but was stubborn to turn.  Slamming his whole bulk behind the key he managed to turn it enough to shove the door open.  He slipped in and immediately emptied his pockets, threw his keys onto the foyer table and proceeded to his bedroom to change out of his work clothes.

            Ron tugged at his tie and dress shit collar.  Most of his Hogwarts classmates would have paid money to ever see him or his brothers in a coat and tie once in their lives, much less day in and day out.  The success of Fred and George's prank business had done so well since their graduation, that Ron was now the managing director of the London branch.  The other two Weasley boys had taken out an early pension and were traveling somewhere in Europe at the moment, putting more pressure on Ron and Ginny (who was using company to pay her way through a medical program in South Kensington) than there had ever been before.

            Before he made it to his room, Ron heard the sniffles of his roommate.  He had soon crossed the space between them and was sitting on the floor beside Hermione's body wracked with sobs.

            "I was wondering how long you were going to hold up," Ron said as she pried the picture frame out of her hands and offered her a clean pressed handkerchief.

            "He'd laugh if he could see us like this," she mumbled through sobs, "You in a suit and me crying on the floor."

            Ron tried to laugh, "Harry wouldn't expect any less."

            Hermione looked at him sideways, "I think we'd best get on with it.  I already called the newspaper with the ad for tomorrow's edition."

            "I thought you were going to think about it longer."           

            "I've decided that we should at least have another roommate in the house,  to keep us from falling into a disastrous heap a few days out of the year."

            Ron nodded, "You know that we'll have people crawling through the window to get a chance at that flat space, don't you?"

            She nodded, "That's what scares me.  I'm afraid that we'll end up living with some clepto or someone—"

            "Someone, what?"

            "Someone who reminds me of Harry."

            "Me, too."

            Hermione moved closer to Ron and hugged him fiercely about the waist, "You don't think Ginny would want to move in with us do you?"

            Ron shook his head, "She's just now got her life back, you know that.  Dragging her in here with us would be torture."

            Hermione clung tighter about his middle.  The audible sobs had stopped but she was still crying and soon the tears had made a small trail down the front of his dark shirt.

            "I say we order some Greek food, watch any chick film you want to, and call in sick tomorrow," Ron suggested as he helped Hermione onto the couch and covered her with a blanket.

            She smiled in agreement, "If you promise to fill my glass with the best bottle of whatever you brought home."

            "I never forget."

            "Sick day tomorrow?" Hermione yelled at Ron who'd gone in search of the wine he'd brought home the day before.

            "Of course. Have you seen the bottle I bought this week?" he called back.

            "Was it a cognac?"

            "I think so."

            "I already made my way through that and the last bit of Jack Daniels."

            "But the cognac was unopened and we'd only had a glass of the Daniels."

            "I know."

            Ron sighed and picked up his keys again, "I'll have to go out for more then."

            "Whatever you need to do, just get something to me!"

            Ron laughed, "Tomorrow will definitely be a sick day."

Author's Note

            Maybe that's a little confusing, but: Mr. Weasley is the minister (he deserves it after all his years of service), Ron, Harry, and Hermione lived together but they're now looking for a roommate to replace mr. potter, and Hermione hasn't told ron about her conversation with his dad.

            DUN FUN DUN!

            rightio, review as usual and I'll get the third chapter up tomorrow, I promise! love and kisses to all my sparkle city gals! Rachel, kudos to my raja and dean-hating buddy!

                                                annie


	3. Three melodrama and unexpected visitors

Email: parsleynsage@hotmail.com  
  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Summary: Oliver Wood. Who the hell is Oliver Wood? No one in the wizarding community hasn't heard of this man since his surprising graduation from Hogwarts in 1996, much to the dismay of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He needs to be found, but why? and who can handle the task?

AN: rightio, sorry it's taken so long to update. need I say school, mostly chemistry! EGAD! that's enough, I've got v-ball and a project this weekend but I think I should be able to get something done.

liner notes: I think I've gotten into a pattern here, chapter three will be about Charlie, and the next about Hermione and Ron, and maybe a little crossover towards the end, but I'll only do this until I can get the two story lines together, and I promise they do eventually do so.  right. here we go!

chapter three

melodrama and unexpected visitors

            "Turn off the bloody alarm!" came a muffled shout from the direction of Wills' room.  

            Charlie's eyelids flickered and his head felt heavy from yet another night of being too friendly with green fairies and harps (AN: i.e. different brands of alcohol).  He had spent three nights on the pastel green couch in the living room that smelled of Will's friend Charlotte and some sort of pet he must have had at university; this morning Charlie had changed his guess from a rather putrid smelling cat that must have pissed regularly on the arm to a rather large and sedentary bunny since he had found several suspiciously giant droppings which looked bunny like. 

            The problem wasn't finding the alarm, he could hear that loud piece of shit, he couldn't make cut a path across the floor.  His hop-soaked brain wasn't helping him in any way; he had to sit back down on the coach and settle for crawling across the floor.

            "I asked nicely the first time, Charlie.  Do I have to get angry?" shouted Wills.

            "Here's the little bugger," Charlie muttered to himself as he pulled the alarm out from under his bureau  where it was hiding behind an old copy of The Irish Times and a handmade card he had gotten from his niece a few years before.  

            "It's about time," came a voice from Charlie's bed. 

            He turned slowly not wanting to see anything unpleasant, "Charlotte, I see you're enjoying our hospitality again."

            "Very much so," came a deep voice from under Charlie's prized down comforter, a muscular arm and large foot hung off the edge of the bed and remnants of what appeared to have been a costume party the night before were spread about the room.  

            "I can see that you enjoyed yourself last night as well," Charlie commented trying to leave without looking about the room.

            "We sure did, went to this great place called-" began Charlotte who was cut off as Charlie closed the door.

            "Where the hell is my coffee!" screamed Wills as he walked into the kitchen, his face still dripping from the mud mask he had just washed away.

            "Do I look like a damn lackey to you?" Charlie asked as he tried to finish buttering his toast, doing his best to avoid his roommate's greedy hands.

            "After last night I'll need to have the whole pot to keep up my stamina."

            "Enough! I'll get you your damn coffee if you promise to stop talking about last night, you and Charlotte both," Charlie said as he handed Wills his piece of bread and set about making coffee for them both.

            "That's a good little flat mate," Wills said as he patted Charlie on the head and started raid the refrigerator.

            "I just might bite that hand one day."

            "The one that feeds you?" Wills asked as he poked at the overgrown mold on top of the egg salad his mum had brought over the week before.

            "Like you bring one tuppence into the flat for anything but rent."

            "Take it that way if you like, but should you ever need any of my services I could be of help," Wills said as he reached for Charlie's waist band.

            Charlie spilled water all over the counter, "Flirting with me is fine, as long as it isn't that serious.  But this—touching me—isn't fine, especially if Charlotte's still in the other room."

            "And what if she wasn't?"

            "_He_, Wills.  Charlotte is a _he._"

            "Fine, fine," Wills said sulking, "You and your minor details."

            Hermione held out her cup for Ron to refill once more.  He took out of her hand and returned to the kitchen.  She smiled from beneath her mound of covers and snotty tissues under which they had spent the night.  She'd never seen so many girlie movies in a twelve hour span, and she felt just as feminine as Marilyn in the Seven Year Itch, and Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail.  It was nice, it was very nice.

            "What will it be this time?" Ron called from the kitchen.

            "Another shot of the house specialty."

            "The house it is, madam," Ron said when he had returned her cup into her hand.

            He snuggled under the covers next to her, ready to attend to any of her needs.  She wasn't breaking, only bent and that's what was concerning him, "Have you called into Dad yet?"

            Hermione shook her head of sugar brown curls, "He already knew that I was going to take a holiday."

            "I guess I should call into the office as well."

            Hermione put a hand on his arm as he rose, "Ginny will know; they'll all know.  No one expects any more."

            "Charlie!" 

            "What now?" Charlie demanded as he came out of his room covered in oil paint.

            "I think it's a woman," Wills said pointing at the phone, "Imagine that."

            "Shove off will you?"

            "I believe I've already done enough of that for the day," Wills said smiling as he slunk off to his bedroom to get ready for work.  

            "Hello?" Charlie said as he picked up the phone.

            There was a pause and some whispering the background.

            "Hello?" he asked a little more irritated this time.

            "Oliver?" asked a tentative voice.

            "Damn it!" Hermione shouted as she threw down the remote and the covers making a dash for the foyer.

            "It's probably some salesman," Ron said trying to coax her back to the coach with her glass of orange juice and the remote he'd found.

            "Like salesman ever come this far into the building," Hermione said as she looked through the peephole.

            "That's odd."

            "What?" asked Ron.

            "I can't see anyone at the door," she said as she opened the knob.

            "Who's there, then?" Ron asked as he came to the door.

            "Good lord!" Hermione shouted as the face and features took shape.

            "Fancy seeing you here," Ron said in a cold and almost accusing tone.

            "Young Weasley and my dear Miss Granger, it is good to see you again," said the deep voice of the tall figure.

            "Won't you come in?" Hermione asked opening the door a little wider.

            "He'll not step a foot in this house as long as I am here," Ron said as he took his hand to the edge of the door and put his weight behind it preventing Hermione from opening it anymore.  

            "I wasn't expecting much of a pleasant welcome."      

Author's Note

            Cliffhangers are wonderful aren't they! well in this case I suppose they're just plain evil. all  the time I have for now, might get another chapter up tomorrow. sorry it took so long!

questions to be answered:

who called Charlie?

why did they call him Oliver?

who was at Hermione and Ron's door?

why does Ron hate above person so much?

have fun with that, and have you reviewed lately? good, and if you haven't then get to it! please!! rightio. you're awesome! annie


	4. four when rose coloured glasses aren't e...

Email: parsleynsage@hotmail.com  
  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Summary: Oliver Wood. Who the hell is Oliver Wood? No one in the wizarding community hasn't heard of this man since his surprising graduation from Hogwarts in 1996, much to the dismay of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He needs to be found, but why? and who can handle the task?

AN: brisk, but to the point

chapter four

when rose coloured glasses were enough

            Oliver clutched the phone, trying to make his breathing normal.  He knew that voice.

            "Penelope?" he hesitantly whispered.

            There was a brief pause, and Oliver began to think he'd been fooled, "Could it be anyone else?"

            "I don't care what he's doing here, he's not to set one damn hairy paw into this flat," Ron said loudly, hoping the man on the other side of the closed door could hear him.

            Hermione tried to quiet him once more, not wanting to hurt feelings, no matter how furry they were, "There has to be a reason for him to show up today.  We haven't heard from him in _months_, he might want to tell us something."

            "Like he's _ever_ wanted to help us! Why would he suddenly change his mind?" Ron roared.

            "He did the best he could, under the circumstances.  Should he want to tell us something, it _will _happen today.  You can't tell me that I've been waiting all this time for pity and a pat on the back!"

            Ron rolled his eyes, "We both know this isn't your best day, I think you'd best let me handle this."

            "I will think for _myself _for once, Ronald Weasley!"

            There was knock at the door and they both shouted for it to cease.

            "And, what if he hasn't come here with good intentions?"

            "Do you think he would come all this way to do something other than help us?"

            Ron raised an eyebrow and shrugged, "It's possible."

            "You're unbelievable," Hermione said as she swung open the door.  

            "It's about time, your neighbors must be starting to wonder why a large black dog is sitting outside your door."

            "You're lucky we're letting you in," Ron said sneering at the black form as it began to morph.

            Hermione pushed Ron against the wall with her hip and made enough room for the man to enter the apartment, "It's so nice to see you again, Mr. Black."

            "I'm sure it is," Sirius Black said as he dropped off his case and dark umbrella at the front door and entered the flat as if he were very familiar with it.

            "What did I tell you."

            "Not another word," Hermione said as she shut the door and followed Sirius into the den. 

            "How did you find me out?" Oliver asked, still amazed that he was speaking to Penelope Clearwater.  He wondered how Percy was doing, the lucky bastard. 

            "No one leaves such an obvious magical paper trail as you do, Mr. Wood.  Being subtle has always alluded you," Penelope replied with a lit to her otherwise professional voice.

            "I'm assuming this can't be a personal call then," he said, dashing all of his hopes and memories from his mind's eye, "I'm not one to accept phone solicitations.  Can we make this quick?"

            "I see that you've also yet to learn how to read between the proverbial lines."

            "One doesn't have a chance to learn much of anything when you live the life I have," Oliver sighed, hoping she'd accept that at face value.

            "That's exactly the reason as to why I've called," she began," And don't tell anyone but for me it might as well be a personal interest."

            "If you're trying to insinuate that any of you have missed me, that's bullshit, and I know it," he spat, the grocery list in front of him suddenly became interesting.

            "We have. And not just the whole department."

            "I'm sure the rest of the wizarding world is wondering where I've gone off to."

            She sighed, "The have, and so have I."

            "You have?" he asked, not wanting to hear the answer.  He drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter waiting for her to respond.  

            "I've thought about you every day since you left," she slowly admitted, "You've broken more hearts than you will ever know, Oliver Wood.  But that isn't the matter at hand." 

            Oliver smiled, there was the Penny he'd known for eleven years, if there was ever business to attend to she'd never shy away from striking through to it's core.  The skin on the back of his left hand itched, and as he scratched it he found it funny that that had been the last place Penelope had touched him.  Begging him not to leave, pleading for him to stay.  But she hadn't belonged to then, and she didn't now, so it was no matter.

            "It isn't?" he snorted, bored with the line of conversation.

            "We need you, Oliver."

Author's Note

            HA! how did you like that one for an ending? of course you'll have questions but just wait a day or so and I'll have five up to clear those away. sniff, not as many reviews as I would want, but it's okay.  

as always, review, review.  you must. it 'tis the law.

                                                                                                annie


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